


Cough Syrup

by TehOpheliac (catharticEscapism)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Illness, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sick!Dean, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catharticEscapism/pseuds/TehOpheliac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hates cherry-flavored cough syrup, but he'll drink it when he's sick because Castiel bought it for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cough Syrup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisfishflies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisfishflies/gifts).



> Well, I wrote this tiny drabble-like fic for Fish when I followed a prompt she left on my LJ. I love her to death and I rather like how this fic came out. Please enjoy and review! &lt;3

"Dean," Castiel said, appearing next to Dean's bed. He peered down at Dean with what could almost be considered a worried expression. "Sam just informed me. I have brought something to help."

Dean was not in the mood to deal with Castiel right now. His throat was scratchy and sore, the chest-wracking coughs only making it worse. He couldn't breathe out of his nose (the whistling noises were starting to annoy the hell out of him), and Dean had a killer headache that was seriously making him consider banging his head on the wall until he was unconscious.

Licking his chapped lips, Dean opened his mouth to tell Castiel to fuck off when he noticed an unmarked plastic bag hanging loosely from the angel's left hand. If Dean hadn't felt so horrible, he'd have rolled his eyes and bitched about Sammy being such an over-reacting pansy and maybe something about domesticated angels going grocery shopping. As it was, it was all he could do to avoid yet another agonizing coughing fit and rasp out, "Stop with the dramatics. I'm not dying—it's just a cold, Cas."

Castiel's lips turned down and his brows furrowed, wrinkling at the corners in a way that was usually endearing, but was now downright annoying. "I was told that your 'cold' had temporarily incapacitated you," he said. Like that explained everything. To Castiel, perhaps it did. After all, Dean had been fatally wounded on more than one occasion and that had never stopped him from doing what needed to be done.

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Okay, Cas," he said, too tired and aching to put up a fuss. He reached out, palm upward and fingers spread, to take the bag from the angel. "Hand it over."

Castiel hesitated, shifting uneasily and waiting until Dean's eyes were on him before he pressed the bag into his palm, his hands cupping Dean's for too long to be polite. Dean's breath caught in his throat and he shivered. Usually Castiel's fingers were hot and just the slightest touch threatened to burn Dean alive. At the moment, however, they were cool and refreshing against his fevered, tingling skin.

"Sam helped me pick it out," Castiel said, his voice hushed. His eyes were intent on Dean's and it felt as though he were reading Dean's soul, searing it from the inside out.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean choked, forcing his eyes and hands away. He stared down at that plastic bag, feeling the solid rounded form within, and ignored the pounding in his ears as dizziness threatened to overcome him. Using his nails, Dean tore the bag in two and revealed a large, red bottle of cough syrup.

"You... shouldn't have," Dean said, staring at the bottle, his nose wrinkled and his upper lip curled in distaste. Sam, that bastard! He _knew_ Dean hated cough syrup—the red kind most especially. It was disgusting and Dean always ended up gagging on it whenever their father bought it (which, of course, was _every_ time).

Dean did his best to look grateful—okay, not really. He did his best to look like he didn't absolutely hate his gift (which he did) as he set it down on the bedside stand. Dean glanced up at Castiel and saw the flash of disappointment and fleeting confusion. His heart sunk into his stomach and Dean knew with cold certainty how this was going to end. "What?" he barked, wincing when a cough congested in his throat. He did his best to ignore it.

Castiel cocked his head to the side and stared at him. "I was given to understand that it's to be consumed," he said.

"Well, uh, it's _cough_ syrup," Dean said, his brain racing as he attempted to find an excuse to get out of drinking the foul liquid. There was an itch at the back of his throat as phlegm dribbled down it, tickling and prompting him to cough. "It's for when you're _coughing_—and I'm not. I don't need it right now." He cleared his throat, trying desperately to remain calm and in control.

Castiel nodded solemnly and seated himself on the edge of the bed. "I understa—" he started, but was cut off when as Dean was overwhelmed by a coughing fit. It seemed forcing yourself _not_ to cough was a very bad idea indeed. Jolts of pain shot through Dean's throat as he gasped for breath in between each loud, wet hack.

In the end, Castiel reached over and rested a soothing hand on Dean's chest to calm his frenzied coughing before he threw up the little he'd managed to consume that morning. It took Dean a few dizzy moments of panting to realize that the angel must have used his angel mojo to help him, because he was suddenly feeling five times better, albeit very sleepy.

"Cas, what..." Dean managed, squinting at Castiel suspiciously and forcing his eyes open. The angel slipped an arm around him and held him up. He said nothing, but something plastic was pressed to Dean's lips and a putrid, sugary, cherry scent invaded his nostrils.

"You must take your medicine, Dean, or you will not get better," Castiel told him, his tone matter-of-fact. From Dean's spotted, drowsy vision, he could see a tiny clear cup in the angel's fingers. It was half-full of red cough syrup. Dean tried to turn his head away and moan something about vomit flavored medicine, but his exhaustion along with the hopeful tinge to Castiel's face stopped him dead.

Dean sighed and opened his mouth, his sleep-addled mind telling him that he could blame it on being sick later, and grimaced at the taste of red cough syrup. "Sleep, Dean," said Castiel from somewhere above him, sounding far-away as he lowered Dean back onto the bed. Something cool and soothing stroked his sticky, sweaty forehead as Dean drifted off to sleep. Maybe red cough syrup wasn't so bad if he had his own personal angel to feed it to him.


End file.
